


FMK

by Blueismybusiness



Series: Self-Indulgent Smut Series Starring Tsukki [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Emotional Sex, F/M, I mean there's porn, I'm sorry this is so fucking long, It was supposed to be porn, i don't know what happened, just not a lot of porn, pining as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueismybusiness/pseuds/Blueismybusiness
Summary: Tsukki loves you. He gets to fuck you...eventually...





	FMK

**Author's Note:**

> Like I had an idea, and somehow, it got away from me. I hadn't planned to write a whole fucking novel for one measly sex scene, but here we are. It's not beta'd so be warned. I apologize if this gets a little tedious. Also, the next work is, like, nothing but dirtiness. I promise.

It started in their second year. Something about winning Nationals brought the four of them together; Hinata with his easy smiles and jubilant personality and Kageyama’s fixed frown, somehow learning to mesh with Yamaguchi’s anxious kindness and Tsukishima’s persistent sour attitude. Maybe it was everything they’d been through their first year, how they climbed up out of the concrete to come out on top of the world. Most likely it was the constant fighting, how they pushed at each others’ boundaries, finding out what the others are made of and learning to respect what each person brought to the table.

Regardless, annoyance replaced hostility which eventually grew into a tentative friendship. At least so much that they found themselves seeking each other out, taking their lunches together during their break at school.

In the beginning it was a little awkward. At first their conversations were easy, the excitement of their victory still fresh and running through their bloodstream and making them feel invincible. But the glow of success began to dim as the new year started and new challenges arose. Conversation dulled, and the four high school boys, though unwilling to disband their little clique, were struggling to find more common ground in which to reinforce the foundation of their growing bond.

That’s when Yamaguchi, of all people, had an idea and opened his mouth.

“Fuck, marry, or kill...Takashima Akio...Nonaka Rinako...Yoshitaka Ichiko?”

The four—now—second years were sitting at the foot of one of the stairwells leading to the third floor of the school building. Outside a thunderstorm raged, water pounding the glass windows as if the whole building was being driven through a carwash. The ash grey clouds completely occluded the June sun, casting the halls of the school in shadowy dreariness, and causing the constant buzz of chatter between students seem louder than normal.

Most of their own conversations that afternoon were stilted, just minor chit chat dispersed by long silences or hushed words between partners. None of them had ventured into more personal territory, still too hesitant to ask those ‘get to know you’ types of questions. It was really only a matter of time before someone broke through the wall that still stood between them, it was just that nobody could have guessed that their first foray into those unknown waters would be... _ that _ .

Hinata, who’d been attempting to balance a chopstick along his Cupid’s Bow, whipped his head around to look at his freckled teammate so fast his eyes crossed and he sends the poor stick flying across the floor. His complexion turned cherry red as he squeaked, “Yamaguchi!” His wide eyes and slack jaw openly expressed his scandalized surprise. 

Kageyama watched the stick roll along the dirty tile, and if he was surprised or disgusted, you would never know since his expression rarely changed from his typical scowl. Tsukishima, on the other hand, only raised an eyebrow at his long-time best friend, snorting his incredulity. This really wasn’t anything new between him and Yamaguchi. When they were bored enough they often played this game. Was it immature? Maybe. But, hey, could you really expect anymore from teenage boys?

“Seriously, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima sighed, shifting his long legs so he was more comfortable where he sat three steps above and behind his friend. Hinata sat on the floor across from them under the window, short legs stretched out before him and creating more of a tripping hazard than the other three. Kageyama leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“What?” Yamaguchi asked, tilting his head back to look at Tsukishima. “It’s a valid question.”    


Tsukishima rolled his eyes and was about to counter Yamaguchi’s ridiculous logic when Kageyama spoke up.

“Fuck Nonaka-san...I guess marry…Yoshitaka-kun, and kill Takashima-san.”

Yamaguchi gave a vague hum as Hinata choked on the air he breathed. Tsukishima sniggered.

“I think I’d rather fuck Takashima-san,” Yamaguchi countered thoughtfully.

Tsukishima snorted again, the distaste bleeding from him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama agreed, “Takashima-san is a fucking menace.”

“Amen to that, “Tsukishima confirmed, leaning back on the step behind him and smirking at Kageyama. Kageyama grinned back. It’s not often they agreed on stuff, but when they did it was like an inside joke.

“Aww, come on, she’s not that bad,” Yamaguchi argued, trying to defend the poor girl’s honor. 

“It is,” Tsukishima insisted, “She’s so damn fake. And she flirts with every guy that looks at her.”

Yamaguchi frowned at him.

“It’s true,” Tsukishima continued, “Once I was in charge of collecting some homework or something and I swear all I did was look at her and literally say, ‘do you have the homework’ and she wrote me love letters for a week.”

Yamaguchi cackled and Kageyama snickered as he shook his head in disbelief. 

“You’re so mean, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi stated, still giggling. Tsukishima shrugged.

Kageyama worried his bottom lip, brow furrowed as he glared at the floor. “He’s right, though,” he confirmed. “Nearly the same thing happened to me, but all I did was bump into her as I was leaving the bathroom. I apologized and after school she cornered me and asked me out.” 

Both Yamaguchi and Tsukishima look at Kageyama.

“What did you say?” Tsukishima asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Kageyama shrugged and scuffed his shoe along the floor and turned his head to look out the window. “What do you think I said, dumbass. I told her hell no and ran away.” Kageyama turned to look at Tsukishima, scowling once again.

It was Tsukishima’s turn to laugh out loud, “You ran away?!” He held his stomach as he guffawed at his teammate’s expense. “Why is that not surprising, King?” He added as he attempted to contain himself.

Kageyama narrowed his eyes, “What the hell did you expect me to do?! Bake cookies with her?!” Kageyama’s expression slid into a pout, “It was so fucking awkward.”

Tsukishima continued to chuckle as Yamaguchi sat silent. Noticing how his friend suddenly clammed up, Tsukishima turned his attention to Yamaguchi. He lightly kicked at him to get his attention, and Yamaguchi turned to him with eyebrows raised.

“Did we ruin your fantasy?” Tsukishima asked with his tone saying he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

Yamaguchi shook his head, “She still has nice boobs.”

Kageyama and Tsukishima stared at Yamaguchi, silence engulfing them for a brief moment.

“True,” Kageyama eventually agreed.

“Eh,” Tsukishima added with a shrug.

A small squeak interrupted the three boys, and three sets of eyes alighted on the fourth and forgotten member of their small troupe.

Hinata was still against the wall, staring at his teammates with shock and embarrassment, his face was purple. It was obvious he never had a conversation like that.

“What’s wrong, Shrimp? Did we say something to offend you?” Tsukishima leered, obviously enjoying Hinata’s discomfort.

Hinata pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Looking away from his friends who stared at him with a mix of bemusement and ridicule, he quietly replied, “I just think it’s rude.”

“You would,” Tsukishima retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Be nice, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi reprimanded his friend, then turned to Hinata and smiled gently. “You don’t have to answer, Shō-kun. I think it’s mature of you.”

“Mature and Hinata, two words that don’t belong in the same sentence,” Tsukishima teased, earning a glare from him.

“Do you even like girls?”

All eyes then moved to Kageyama. 

“HAAAAH?!” Hinata shrieked, his eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of his head as his knees dropped to the floor in a loose cross-legged position.

Tsukishima immediately started howling with laughter.

“Kageyama!” Yamaguchi chided, sounding, oddly enough, like Sugawara, then punched Tsukishima in the leg in the same manner their senpai might have done. 

“Oooow…” Tsukishima huffed between peals of giggles.

“What?!” Kageyama growled, now on the defensive. “I mean, it’s not like it matters!”

Tsukishima continued laughing, his body almost convulsing in his hysteria as he gasped desperately for air. The question would probably not be so hilarious if Kageyama hadn’t asked it so nonchalantly.

“I like girls, stupid!”

Tsukishima was finally coming down, his loud laughter settling to more quiet chuckles. “Seriously, Shrimp, it’s really not a big deal if you don’t. In fact, it would kinda explain a few things.”

Hinata scowled at Tsukishima, his face red from anger and scrunched up, “I’m  _ not  _ gay, asshole! I’m just not crude like some people!”

“Ah,” Yamaguchi piped in, “Then it’s a matter of semantics?”

“Se-what?” Hinata turned to his freckled teammate, anger dissipating in the face of Yamaguchi’s more gentle nature.

“Semantics, moron, “ Kageyama interjected, “It means how words are used in specific context.”

Everyone looked at him, awe and disbelief in their expressions. A red flush spread across Kageyama’s cheeks, and he shrugged, glaring at each of the other three boys sitting in the corridor with him.

“What? My grades are actually improving, you know,” He mumbled, petulance written all over his face.

“Yeah, no thanks to me,” Tsukishima added, just in case Kageyama forgot who spent all his free time tutoring him. Kageyama clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, turning his glare out the window.

“What I mean,” Yamaguchi continued with a hint of exasperation in his tone, “Is that you are uncomfortable with dropping F-bombs.”

“It just sounds so dirty,” Hinata insisted, plucking at his shoe string awkwardly.

Both Kageyama and Tsukishima chimed in simultaneously;

“My fantasies are dirty.”

“That’s the point.”

Yamaguchi just rolled his eyes, then focused on Hinata who wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You don’t have to join in if you don’t want, Shōyō. We don’t even have to keep talking about it, it’s fine.”

Hinata sighed as if resigned and shrugged, “It’s fine. It’s not like Noya-sempai and Tanaka-senpai are any better.”

All four second years shuddered remembering some of the things their senpai have brought up. Things no first year should ever have to know about their seniors. Things that will haunt them for the rest of their days.

By then it was too late to carry on their provocative conversation. The bell rang signaling the end of lunch, and the beginning of a ritual that would follow them through the rest of high school.

It would also be the catalyst of change for Tsukishima.   
  


 

**++++++**

 

“Okay,” Hinata began, tapping his finger on the desk he sat at. They were in their third year now, their second year having passed as quickly as their first. Nationals have come and gone in a disappointing loss, but that hadn’t hurt the friendship that officially developed between the foursome. Over the last year, what had started off hesitant and clumsy, was now easy and comfortable. It took a lot to get there, but got there they did.

All four boys huddle around Kageyama’s desk, as usual gathering for lunch. The day was clear and cool for late spring, but they’d opted to stay inside despite the pretty weather. Mostly, their decision was due to Hinata’s ineptitude for anything scholastic.

“Can we focus?” Tsukishima pleads, already bored of having to tutor Hinata...again. 

Kageyama and Yamaguchi pause in their conversation to attend to their friends. While Tsukishima assisted Hinata, the Captain and his Vice were quietly discussing the new first years and how their skills might be best put to use. 

“Uuuugh...but I’m so bored of studying, Tsukki!” Hinata whines, leaning back in his seat and stretching his arms. The whole desk rattles as he suddenly releases the tension in his arms and slumps in his seat, pouting.

“Fine,” Tsukishima sighs, tossing his pencil on top of his desk and dipping his fingers beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Don’t complain when you fail, Shrimp.”

Hinata hisses and sticks out his tongue, and Tsukishima swipes at his head. Hinata doges, laughing, making Tsukishima roll his eyes.

“Okay, what, Shō?” Yamaguchi asks when the other two have calmed down.

Hinata looks at him, his head tilting and his eyes squinting in confusion, “Okay, what?”

“Oh my god,” Tsukishima snorts and face palms.

“What?!” Hinata asks again.

“You were about to say something dumbass,” Kageyama helps, the words muffled somewhat around his straw as he sucks down another milk box.

Hinata just blinks at them, his eyes dull and blank as he tries to recall if he was going to ask anything. Kageyama rolls his eyes, Yamaguchi hides a chuckle behind his hand, and Tsukishima snorts, whispering, “For fuck’s sake.”

“Oh!” Hinata’s brown eyes brighten as he finally remembers his question, “FMK, Minamoto-kun?”

Three boys sigh and relax as the conversation heads down a long familiar track.

“Minamoto from class 4C?” Yamaguchi asks, taking a bite of his lunch.

“No, the first year, Minamoto Shizue,” Hinata corrects.

“Gross,” Tsukishima replies. “She’s a first year.”

“I prefer Minamoto from class 4C,” Kageyama offers.

Yamaguchi shakes his head, “Uh uh, we’ve already done her.” 

Hinata snickers, and Yamaguchi’s eyes widen before understanding flicks across his face. He chuckles and lightly punches Hinata in the arm.

Kageyama joins in on the laughter when the joke registers. Tsukishima represses a smirk. “Perv,” he teases as he picks up his pencil and uses his thumb nail to pick at the eraser.

“Yeah, whatever happened to innocent Shōyō who used to get flustered whenever anyone mentioned sex?” Yamaguchi grins at Hinata.

Hinata rolls his eyes, “You started this if I remember correctly. I blame your corrupting influence.”

Yamaguchi gasps as Tsukishima laughs. “I am a pillar of integrity,” Yamaguchi denies, spreading his hand over his heart and trying to look as innocent as possible.

“I can vouch that your statement is a bold face lie, Yamaguchi. You’re as sneaky and twisted as Suga-san ever was.” Kageyama flicks a piece of paper at him, and Yamaguchi retorts by sticking out his tongue.

“He was trouble long before he met Suga-senpai,” Tsukishima adds and Yamaguchi sends him a look of utter betrayal. 

“I can’t believe my best friend is calling me out like that,” Yamaguchi pouts, but the effect is diminished by the fact he can barely contain the underlying grin on his face.

Tsukishima blows him a kiss and laughs when Kageyama makes gagging noises. 

“You know,” Yamaguchi starts, his brow wrinkling as he becomes a little more serious, “I think we’ve gone through every girl in the school.”

“I wish,” Hinata mumbles as Tsukishima hums a distracted reply.

Kageyama and Yamaguchi start poking fun at Hinata about the time you walk into the class. You’re making your way across the room to your desk that sits two rows up and one to the right when you catch Tsukishima’s eye.

“What about [Name]-san?” He offers.

Hinata, Yamaguchi, and Kageyama still in their antics, each turning their focus to you. You’ve just sat down with your back to the four volleyball players behind you. You’re bent over digging in your bag, your delicate fingers pulling out your own lunch.

“She’s foreign,” Kageyama counters, and Hinata smacks him.

“Does being a foreigner somehow disqualify her?” Hinata asks, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious,” Tsukishima drawls, rolling his eyes at Kageyama.

Kageyama glowers at both Hinata and Tsukishima.

“I don’t know,” Yamaguchi muses aloud. “I think she’s pretty.”

“I never said she wasn’t,” Kageyama pouts, slumping in his chair.

“What do we know about her?” Tsukishima asks, his eyes falling back on you.

“Not much,” Yamaguchi states, then turns to Kageyama. “You’re the one who shares a class with her. What’s she like?”

Kageyama looks panicked suddenly. “I don’t know!” He snaps.

Tsukishima turns his head and narrows his eyes in suspicion, “Why are you so nervous? Do you like her or something?”

“No!” Kageyama hollers and the rest of them rush to quiet him. He folds his arms over his chest, his cheeks pink from embarrassment. “I haven’t really paid attention. I mean, I like her legs and all...but that’s about all I know of her.”

“Geez, Bakeyama, is there no other room in your mostly empty head for anything besides volleyball?” Hinata teases, leaning past Tsukishima to poke him him in the shoulder. 

Tsukishima clicks his tongue and shoves Hinata back, “Pot meet kettle. Your head’s just as empty, hence why I’m  _ supposed  _ to be tutoring you.”

Hinata conveniently ignores Tsukishima’s rebuke. “I think she has a nice ass,” he says, avoiding looking at Tsukishima who pointedly stares at him. He knows how much it bothers Hinata.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen an ass like that on any high school girl before,” Yamaguchi agrees, his eyes dipping down to check out what isn’t blocked by the wooden chair your sitting in.

Something suddenly falls from your desk and you lean over to pick it up. The noise catches the rest of their attention, and four sets of eyes lock onto you. As your leaning over to grab the item that fell, your butt rises, giving the four boys a better view of your assets. Four heads tilt as they blatantly check you out, and thank god you aren’t looking or you might be somewhat offended.

“Yep,” Hinata states matter-of-factly.

“Mmmm…” Yamaguchi hums in appreciation.

“Not bad,” Kageyama agrees.

“Yeah, nice,” Tsukishima, too, consents.

The other three look at him a bit surprised. “That’s high praise coming from you,” Yamaguchi grins, knowing how picky his best friend is.

Tsukishima snorts, “So I have high standards. Unlike some.” Tsukishima stares directly at Hinata who flips him off.

“Her skin looks so soft,” Kageyama whispers, his voice full of whimsy and he looks a little dazed.

“The fuck?” Tsukishima asks, a little weirded out by Kageyama’s change in demeanor.

As if just waking up, he gives himself a little shake and glares at Tsukishima, “What?!”

“Bakeyama, you sure you don’t like her?” Hinata watches Kageyama, his eyes intense as he studies his partner. Kageyama shudders and coughs awkwardly.

“I-I’m sure,” he stutters, looking down at his lap before darting his eyes up to meet Hinata’s, a challenging gleam behind them. There’s a tense moment between the two, then Hinata shrugs as if nothing changed, his behavior suddenly switching back to his normal buoyancy, “Okay.” 

Again, Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

“So, then...fuck, marry, kill [Name]-san?” Yamaguchi asks, bringing their little group back to the original topic.

Two pairs of brown eyes return their attention to you, followed by a pair of blue, and honey-gold.

“Totally fuck,” Hinata answers first.

“Definite hell yeah I’d fuck,” Kageyama adds. Someone sighs in exasperation at his constant contradictory attitude toward you.

“Completely fuckable, would do at a moment’s notice,” Yamaguchi concurs.

Tsukishima is silent for a moment as the others await his verdict. Finally he acquiesces, “Yeah, I’d fuck her.”

To their horror, and before any of them could react, you turn in your seat, placing an elbow on the desk behind you. Your eyes lock onto each boy as you observe them with little to no expression on your face. All of them sit, frozen in place, praying to the stars above that you didn't hear the entire conversation that took place concerning your anatomy and whether they would have sexual relations with it.

Slowly you allow your face to relax, a mischievous smirk curling your lips and your eyes glinting with devilish amusement.

“You wish,” you simply state, then turn back to whatever it was that you were doing before interrupting the four behind you and dropping your humiliation bomb right smack in the middle of their fun.

All four boys swiftly turn around or duck their heads, huddling a little close in mutual shame, each of them sporting a sweet red burn on their faces and ears, one or two of them even feeling the blush further down their necks and onto their chests.

Hinata opens his mouth to say something but Tsuksihima holds up his hand. “Don’t,” he orders. Hinata clamps his mouth shut.

If they finish their lunch in quiet contemplation of their sin, it’s nobody’s fault but their own.

And if Tsukishima’s heart races from more than just mortification, well, he’ll just pretend he doesn’t notice.   
  


**++++++**

 

Three weeks after the incident in class and Tsukishima still has heart palpitations whenever you look at him, and it’s not the memories of being humiliated that’s doing it. It’s your face. Mostly. And it doesn’t help that Hinata has befriended you. 

The day after everything went down, they were all gathering for lunch as usual when you walked by. He still isn’t sure if it was impulse or genuine desire, but Hinata suddenly ran after you and flagged you down. Tsukishima and the rest of the group watched from several feet away as Hinata said something he couldn’t hear, then dived into a bow. He assumed Hinata was apologizing, and he assumed it worked because moments later you were laughing at some exchange between you and the Shrimp. He would never admit to feeling impressed by Hinata’s boldness, nor would he  _ ever _ admit to feeling envious knowing that if he had followed Hinata’s lead, you might have smiled at him in the same way. Instead, he shut the door on that particular thought and settled for teasing Hinata. He was used to that.

Since that day, Hinata has frequently invited you to lunch. He doesn’t know if Hinata is doing penance for being a teenage boy or if he is trying to force the rest of them into apologizing, something  _ he _ still hasn’t done and refuses to. Regardless, he’s stuck eating lunch with you, and although he could refuse, for some reason he can’t bring himself to do so.

Currently, Yamaguchi and you are talking about movies you enjoy. Over the last few lunches, Tsukishima has learned more about you. He has learned that you both have similar taste in music, you both enjoy reading, and you both lack a filter. He even enjoys your sense of humor. 

He is suddenly not sure what to do with the strange feelings that accompany your presence. So he settles for teasing you the same way he teases everyone else. What he finds most interesting, however, is how you often refused to back down, throwing his sarcasm and mockery right back at him. 

“Disney movies, seriously?“ He interrupts your conversation with Yamaguchi. He looks at you one eyebrow raised, and a smirk stretching across his face. “How old are you? Twelve?“

You roll your eyes, barely bothered by his ridicule. “Not everyone is as bitter and cynical as you are, Blondie.“

“No, you just hide it better than I do.“ He smirks at you and you click your tongue, grinning back. Your smile does things to him that he finds embarrassing, such as making him blush. He turns away hoping you don’t notice how his cheeks have turned pink.

He tries to convince himself your presence is annoying, just like he used to try and convince himself that volleyball was just a club.

 

**++++++**

 

Tsukishima’s third year came and went in the blink of an eye. Now he finds himself in his first year of University with an even bigger problem.

After Hinata began inviting you for lunch you never went away. In fact, you ended up spending more time with him and his friends. What began as simply school lunches, eventually became after school hangouts. You would  often study with them, assisting him with tutoring his teammates. Despite being only in class 3, he learned you were smarter than you appeared.

Eventually you even began hanging out with him alone. Early on he found himself content with your friendship. However, over time what was once platonic feelings deepened until he craved your company. He cherished those rare days it was just you and him sitting around rewatching Jurassic Park or swapping music. He knew he was fucked when he had to fight back the jealousy that came with sharing your attention with the other three.

It was even worse when you dated. Though you never kept a relationship for long, he hated every guy who got to touch you in ways he only ever dreamed of. He never felt the tiniest bit of guilt revelling joyfully in your break ups. It only meant that maybe one day he could take the place they left behind. 

He didn’t wait around though. It was too much to sit back, hoping that you would see him as more than just a friend. On the occasion that wanting you became more than he could handle, he would find someone to take his mind off you—even if it was only for a few hours. He never dated, though. How could he when you occupied the only space inside him reserved for that so called ‘special someone’?

It was so fucking annoying. Everything about you caused some sappy effect within him that he only ever believed belonged to Hollywood romantic comedies; the sweaty palms, racing heart, and the goddamned  _ blushing _ . He could  _ really _ do without the blushing.

Currently you and him are in his dorm. You’re laying on his bed with your feet propped against the wall and your head hanging off the side of the mattress, hair dangling in silky waves. You’re fiddling with your phone, humming something or other as you swish one foot back and forth to the beat in your head. 

He’s at his desk trying to study, but the chill weather means you’re wearing tight-as-fuck jeans and your legs are very distracting.

University found you both attending the same school, much to his surprise. This was his first choice of the universities he applied to, and it was prestigious and not so easy to get into. You two had discussed which schools you were applying to, and he’d been sure you never mentioned this particular one. He was floored (and not a little excited) when you announced your acceptance to the exact same university, waving your acceptance letter in his face with a smug smile and bright eyes.

Honestly, he wonders if you didn’t apply just to prove you were as smart as him despite the fact you weren’t in college prep courses in high school.

Still, he teased you, he can always find a reason to tease, but secretly he was thrilled that you wouldn’t be separating. Yamaguchi had chosen a different school, though one still close enough to visit regularly. Hinata and Kageyama accepted scholarships for volleyball—obviously—to the same school several hours away. Oddly enough, the distance hadn’t hurt the friendship they’d forged in high school. Also, it’s been fun playing against them in the few practice matches Tsukishima has had since starting school.

“I’m bored,” you sigh, interrupting his musings as you roll over onto your stomach to look at him with a pout. He has to make a conscious effort not to stare at your incredible ass. God, he loves your ass...

He blinks and deadpans, “That’s my problem, how?”

“Ughh,” you groan and poke him in the leg from the bed. “Entertain me, Tsukki!”

Fuck, why does every thing you do—every sound you make—cause an instant boner?!

He sighs and crosses his legs, “I have homework. Entertain yourself, I’m not your babysitter.”

“Geez, grouchy much? When is the last time you got laid? You’re so fucking uptight, Uptightshima.”

He ignores the comment about his very dry sex life and snorts, rolling his eyes as he forces back a grin. He can tell how much Hinata has rubbed off on you, and while it should be irritating, he can’t help but find it cute.

“Speaking of which,” you say, cutting off the witty retort he was surely going to deliver, “What are we doing this weekend?”

He turns back to his homework, he doesn’t want you to see how your assumption that you and him would be hanging out makes him giddy. He shrugs and pretends that hanging out with you is inconvenient. 

“I don’t know about you, but I have to study.”

You groan again (causing another spark of arousal to warm him) and sit up, your hair static-y and clinging to your face. You splutter and wrestle with the wayward strands, pushing hair out of your eyes and mouth. He watches and has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes your ridiculous and it’s all the more endearing.

“Anyway,” you start, having tamed your wild hair, “Why would you want to study when you could spend time with your favorite person.” You smile cheekily at him, trying to be cute. He’ll never tell you how much it’s working.

“Who? Yamaguchi?” He retorts and has to laugh when you look offended.

“Well then, asshole,” you glare at him, “I suppose I am now on the lookout for a new blonde Japanese guy to be my friend.”

His heart jumps at the thought of losing you, even if it was an empty threat. Instead he just rolls his eyes, “Have at it, there’s a million of us to choose from.”

You pout and kick at him, “Like you wouldn’t miss me.” You smile genuinely at him, all soft and fond, and he nearly sighs in bliss. Inwardly he smacks himself for being such a sappy loser.

“But I would enjoy the peace and quiet. You know, so I can study and pass my classes.”

“Pfft,” You wave your hand, dismissing his claim, “studying is overrated.”

He chuckles, “How have you not flunked out?”

The look you give him sends a wave of heat from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s smoldering and cocky, and  _ shit  _ does he  _ want  _ you so fucking bad!

“Some of us are just smarter than others. Makes learning easier.”

_ Fuck you fuck you fuck you god fuck me! _

“Please leave my room,” he deadpans again, and you giggle, falling backward onto his bed. His muscles twitch as he restrains himself from rising from his chair to peel those skinny jeans from your body and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.

Hell, when  _ was  _ the last time he got laid?

“Actually,” he begins, ignoring his needy dick, “there is a party this weekend.” He never intended to keep the knowledge from you, it was just more fun to torture you.

You spring up like a puppy being offered a treat and looking just as eager. Your eyes are bright, and your grinning at him with so much excitement.

“Please tell me we’re going.” You’re not asking him so much as demanding.

He pretends to waffle over a decision, putting on his best inconvenienced expression. It’s not that he actually likes parties. In fact, he hates them. He really does not enjoy all the drunk people and terrible, loud music. However, as with anything involving you, he will suffer as long as you're happy.

“I really should stay in and study. I have this huge paper coming up that I need to research…” he doesn’t get to finish because you’ve crawled off the bed and onto your knees between his legs. You look up at him, eyes big and begging, with your bottom lip jutting out. 

He has to actively fight back the erection that’s threatening to wave hello in your face. His mind has been wiped of all rational thought as pictures of you in this position for  _ very  _ different reasons play in his head like a high definition porno. 

_ Don’t get hard don’t get hard don’t get hard… _

“Tsukki,” You purr and it takes every ounce of strength for him  _ not  _ to moan like a whore the way you say his name. Right now, he kinda wishes you were a dude, if only so he can punch you in the face for torturing him like this.

“Tsukki, please,” you whine, the tone of your voice dropping slightly.

“Fine,” he whispers because it’s the only thing he can do seeing as though any more volume would betray how much you’re affecting him at the moment. And if you notice how tense he is you don’t call him on it, thank god.

The change in attitude almost gives him whiplash as you happily shriek, throwing yourself at him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” you mumble into his hair and plant a quick kiss onto his scalp. He can’t help but turn his face into your neck and breathe in your scent. You smell like honey and lilacs, and it makes his head swim with so much desire it's physically painful. He’d love to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his lap, not necessarily to do anything sexual. He’d just love to hold you, to gather you close to him and feel your heart beat against his. But he keeps his hands to himself, disappointed when you pull away.

Instead he settles for his typical sarcasm, “You’re so clingy.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair and he swats at your hand. “Alright, alright, jerk. I’ll get out of here and let you work so you can’t complain this weekend.”

Tsukishima is disappointed that you’re leaving. He would rather you stay, even if it’s just to keep him company while he works. However, he just hums as you pull on your boots and coat.

“Lunch tomorrow?” You ask as you grab your purse and open the door.

“Yeah, sure,” he sighs, trying not to look too sad you’re leaving.

“Kay, see ya tomorrow, Tsukki.” You give him a little wave and a big smile before walking out of the door, closing it behind you.

He sighs again. It would be so much easier if he just told you how he felt; sometimes it was agony being your friend. However, it was preferable to losing you since he was sure you saw him as nothing more than just that;  a friend, albeit a really close one.

He would give nearly anything to have you return his feelings. Yamaguchi has encouraged him on multiple occasions to just suck it up and confess. He almost has, too. However, he always talks himself out of it. He’s an asshole, how could he ever make a good boyfriend? You deserve so much better. Someone who would treat you like the queen you are. 

He sighs...again, and gets up from his chair, stretching. He looks down, his cock hard and pitching a tent in his sweats since you left. He walks to the door and locks it. He doesn’t want his roommate to walk in on him as he jacks off to thoughts of you. Thoughts he has if you on a nightly basis.

 

**++++++**

 

Three days later and he can almost pat himself on the back for calling it; he’s made it to the party and, of course, he’s miserable.

Things didn’t start out that way. Surprisingly, his week was not terrible, and when you show up at his dorm in another pair of tight jeans that hug your fine, perky ass perfectly with a sweater that hangs off your shoulders, well, he really can’t complain. 

You drag him out of his room, your eyes bright in the smoggy evening light as you decide to hit up a small diner for a quick bite before heading to the party. You are all wide smiles and inane conversation, jumping from topic to topic like you usually did when excited about a fun night out. It’s not like you are an extrovert and partied all of the time. Honestly, most weekends are spent holed up in his or your dorm, watching bad movies and eating junk food while making fun of each other. Still, you like to crawl out from the cave on occasion and indulge, and he doesn’t really mind. 

Especially when you’re like this; vibrant and eager, a mini sun that draws looks from strangers and smiles when your tinkling laughter floats through the air. You are the most beautiful in these moments, and all he can do was allow himself to be pulled into your orbit.

He follows you (read drag by the arm when you hook yours with his and refuse to let go, not that he complains about the contact) through the streets after dinner, toward the party. He can barely hide the smugness that hangs off him as guys zero in on your ass as you pass, never noticing all the lustful looks. You aren’t his, but he doesn’t care. In these minutes before the party inevitably claims your attention, he can pretend you belong solely to him, and he relishes the looks of jealousy that come his way as the eyes that follow you fall on him and your closeness.

But as he said, it doesn’t last. Eventually you both find yourselves at the party, and the few friends you’ve made who were invited, barge in and monopolize your time. He inwardly cringes at being left on his own and reluctantly wanders around until he finds a few guys he recognizes from class and some of his teammates. He’s grabbed a beer, wishing Yamaguchi could have made it this weekend if only to keep him company. Regardless, he socializes as best as his antisocial ass can while watching from his periphery as you laugh and have the time of your life.

Two hours later and Tsukishima is wishing a meteoroid would randomly crash into the middle of this goddamned party and relieve him of having to watch you flirt. He’s watched you from across the room for the past forty-five minutes as you belly laugh and smile coyly at Bokuto, talking about god knows what. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen you flirt before, but the way your touch lingers unnecessarily long or you nibble on your lip makes him want to spike a ball into his senpai’s face. Of all the people you could have chosen to make a move on, he never would have imagined Bokuto, and the fact it’s one of his senpai—his  _ teammates _ —makes it too personal, to close to home.

His grip tightens on his beer bottle until his knuckles are white, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if he could actually shatter the glass. 

“You know, I don’t know what that beer bottle did to you, but I’m sure it’s sorry, Tsukki-chan.”

His angry, golden eyes slide sideways, his captain and senpai, Oikawa, grinning knowingly at him. He is too pissed to correct the smarmy douchebag on how to properly pronounce his name, so he doesn’t say anything, allowing his eyes to drift back to you and the fool your making of yourself as he upends the bottle, swallowing the last of the bitter liquid. When he’s finished, he sets the empty bottle on a random table. Someone he doesn’t know passes by, opening a new bottle of something he hasn’t drunk yet, and he snatches it straight out of the their hand.

“Hey!” The stranger is livid, having their alcohol stolen from him, but Tsukishima is in no mood and really fucking buzzed. He stares the guy down, his unnatural golden gaze molten with the heat of outrage, until the dude backs away, hands in the air and muttering “asshole”. He barely registers the the insult, focusing on you instead, and taking a drink of  _ his  _ new beer. Too bad it wasn’t something stronger.

Next to him, Oikawa snorts, his observant gaze analyzing every minute shift in Tsukishima’s expression. “Shit, man, I don’t envy you,” he says, Oikawa’s brown eyes following his line of sight.

He continues to ignores Oikawa, praying to anyone listening above—or below—that the annoyance would lose interest and leave him be. 

“It sucks when you want someone but they don’t want you back.”

Aaaand it appears that he will continue to stay on the universe’s shit list tonight.

He sighs, heavy and long, and the sound is lost beneath the bass of bad hip hop and drunken laughter. He finally, fully engages Oikawa. He’s expecting to give a tongue lashing the nosy bastard wouldn’t soon forget; the alcohol in his system has really loosened his inhibitions, and combined with the anger—and jealousy, and heartache—he is ready to make someone cry. Yet, all he can do is blink when he locks eyes with his senior whose expression is dead serious. They have a bonding moment. 

Finally, he nods because words are not necessary to express the understanding that passes between them. Oikawa smiles a little shyly and takes a drink of his own beer, and shit, now Tsukishima has to respect him a little more as a human being and not just some overdramatic, serving monster of death.

Oikawa leans into him, a conspirators grin curling his lips, “Know what I do when I need a distraction?”

He doesn’t answer, he already knows because it’s the same thing  _ he _ does. He appreciates Oikawa’s concern, however. He rolls his eyes and smirks, the nonverbal cue letting Oikawa know that, yes, Tsukishima knows.

Oikawa is still grinning as he tips his bottle to the left of them and leans a little further, and he isn’t sure if it’s because Oikawa’s drunk or if it’s because he doesn’t want to be overheard. Tsukishima thinks it may be a little of both.

“Good,” Oikawa sort of slurs and chuckles, “because there is a really cute red headed French babe that has been totally wet for you since you first showed up.”

He isn’t sure if he really cares one way or another about some random chick. Girls are constantly vying for his attention as it is. It’s the one girl he wants whose attention  _ he  _ can’t seem to grab. Still, curious and as casually as he can, he glances in the direction Oikawa indicated.

She wasn’t hard to identify, her red hair standing out in a see if black, brunette, and the occasional blonde. Also, she is literally making it easy by staying in his line of sight as much as possible, constantly flicking her eyes to him in case he notices her. She is cute; small and delicate, with a pretty face and shimmering copper tresses. When she catches his eye she smiles shyly at him and turns her gaze elsewhere. If he hadn’t been so caught up in staring at you, he might have noticed her ages ago.

He turns back to Oikawa who’s now smiling like the cat that got the cream. Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and he fights back the urge to shove his hand in his senpai’s face. Instead, he glances back at you.

You’re leaning into Bokuto now, whispering something in his ear, stretched up on tiptoes. Slender fingers rest on his bicep in a grip that’s firm but gentle, like you’re trying to memorize the feel of them.

His eyes travel the length of your body, taking in the curve of you back, hips, and ass. Even from across the room he can see the way your calf muscles contract as you run one foot along the back of your other leg. He wonders if their as soft and firm as he imagines them to be and he sighs. The redhead has nothing on you; she’s pretty, but your ethereal, almost unreal in your beauty. While the redhead is delicate, you’re strength. While she’s shy, you may be a little awkward, but you’re no coward.

Suddenly you’re finished saying whatever it was in Bokuto’s ear. You lower yourself back to the ground in what feels like slow motion, flinging hair out of your eyes with a graceful toss of your head. Your eyes move from Bokuto and find his across the room. For a second, time stops as you smile warmly at him, affection making your eyes shine in the gross, orange light of the room. Then something else flitters across your face, an expression eerily similar to the ones he gives you when you’re not looking at him, and he wonders for a second if, maybe…

Everything in him screams for him to take the few steps across the room to find out. It would take mere seconds for his long ass legs to cover the distance if he shoved anyone in his path aside. His brain and heart, so rarely in sync, howl at him to move and show you what you mean to him; to kiss you until there no doubt in your mind that he’s so far gone for you. His muscles twitch to do just that, and he takes a step...

...and Bokuto taps you on the shoulder, drawing your attention away, and effectively strangling the moment between you. Inside, he shrieks in outrage, ready to  _ strangle _ Bokuto, senpai or no.

You return to your  _ flirting _ as if nothing had happened. As if that tiny, inexplicable moment never  _ existed _ . As if the universe had decided to pity him and give him the barest glimpse of hope, only to yank it away, sadistically laughing at his expense.

Something in him collapses. He realizes that he’d only seen what he wanted to see, that you will _never_ look at him. At least, not in the way you look at someone like Bokuto.

He can’t take anymore, he’s drunk, hurting, and pathetically horny. Driven by impulse and self-pity, he walks over to the redhead. She smiles, biting her lip and sitting a little straighter when she notices his approach. She doesn’t look at him, but hides behind her hand as she giggles at something her friends says to her.

He plasters on his most charming smile (believe it or not he does have one) and says something to her in French, thanking and cursing his mother’s side of the family. Her eyes widen and her pleased smile grows exponentially.

Frankly, it’s too easy. A few clever words or strategically placed smiles and she’s eating out of his hand. He almost feels sorry for the poor girl, and he doesn’t know when he got so good at picking up chicks. He’s always found it easy to gain the attentions of females, even when he was clearly uninterested. It’s ridiculous how fast panties fall when he actually tries.

He’d feel more guilty for his fuckboi attitude if he wasn’t so messed up over you. So, right now he doesn’t care. Right now, the redhead is smiling coyly up at him, eyes half lidded, and right now, all he wants to do is forget about you. Even if it’s just for a little while.

He turns up the heat, so to speak, leaning into her and dropping his voice as he speaks into her ear. You once told him he had a sexy voice (he masturbated for weeks to the thought of using it to whisper dirty things in your ear as he fantasized about making you come).

Instead, he settles for making this girl so hot for him, she’s practically dragging him away. It’s not long before he’s barging into an empty room, and vaguely aware of furniture as he hikes her up around his waist, her teeth and tongue clashing with his in desperation. He’s thankful they’re in someone’s bedroom because a minute later he’s shoving her face into the mattress and yanking her jeans down her thighs. 

He stuffs his hand in his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and fumbling for the condom he has hidden away (because what self-respecting young adult male doesn’t carry one for situations like his). He rolls the rubber onto himself as the girl whines for him to hurry up. He wastes no time on foreplay; on appreciating the smooth, pale flesh before him. He doesn’t care. 

He thrusts inside of her in a single shot, causing her to lurch and cry out. She’s tight and wet, and he sighs in satisfaction as he immediately starts thrusting into her with abandon. She’s keening loudly, moaning gibberish in her haze of pleasure, and he can’t even recall her name. He tries to lose himself in the feeling of fucking someone, but all he can think about is you.

He’s staring at the backside of this girl, but all he sees is you. Your eyes and the way you looked at him. The way you smiled at him. 

_ [Name]... _

He envisions you, spread out beneath him as he pounds into this girl he doesn’t know…

_...[Name]...[Name]...[Name] _ , repeats in his head like a broken record…

_...[Name][Name][Name][Name][Name][Name][Name]... _

Over and over again his mind and heart call for you. He’s dully aware of the girl’s orgasm, the sound of her voice calling out obscured by the sound of his own pounding heart and your name echoing through his head. He fucks her through her climax, her muscles clenching around him, until he feels his own end rushing upon him. He squeezes his eyes shut, the voice in his head screaming your name…

_...[NAME][NAME][NAME][NAME]... _

“[NAME]!” 

Oh fuck.

He couldn’t help it. The sensation of his orgasm caught him like a buoy caught in a storm, and your name escaped from his lips before he could catch himself. He’s never done anything like that before, and while he may be an asshole, he wasn’t completely without a sense of consideration. 

The girl he still grasps against him stiffens, then slowly pulls away. He doesn’t stop her. She sighs as she pulls up her jeans, and it’s then he notices her ass. Not that it compares to yours, but still, it’s not bad.

He pulls off the condom, tying it off. He glances around, looking for a trash bin or something and sees one a few feet away next to the bed. He tosses the used prophylactic before zipping himself back up inside his pants. He hesitantly looks at the girl, but oddly enough, she doesn’t look pissed, only disappointed.

“I suppose I should have known better,” she states quietly in the semi-darkness of the room.

“Excuse me?” He retorts, one part ashamed of what he’d done, and two parts angry at being in this situation in the first place.

“I mean, I watched you watch that other girl for most of the night,” she says, her expression neutral as she studied him, “I had hoped you might find me more interesting, but I guess you’re too far gone for that.”

He sighs and plucks his glasses off his nose, cleaning them on the hem of his shirt and shoving them back on his face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, not sure if he’s more apologetic for calling out another woman’s name or for sleeping with this girl in the first place.

She shrugs, “It was still good.” She stretches up and places a gentle kiss on the cheek and quietly tells him, “Do yourself a favor and tell her how you feel, Tsukishima-san.” The she walks past him to the door. The noise from the party was muffled by the closed door, and the sounds from outside are loud after becoming used to the quiet room. She halts at the door and turns to him.

“I’d tell you to look me up if things don’t go how you want, but I doubt you even remember my name,” she winks at him before striding out of the room and back into the party.

He shoves his hands up under his glasses and drags them down his face as he lowers himself onto the bed. She suggested telling you how he feels just like Yamaguchi had been encouraging him to do for months. It sounds so easy to everyone else, but they aren’t the ones with their heart on the line. He sits alone in the room for a bit, trying to gather the pieces of himself that feel so scattered about. By the time he leaves, he’s resigned himself to do it, to just get it over with and confess. He doesn’t think he can live like this anymore, anyway.

He makes his way back to the room he last saw you in, pushing passed drunk, sweaty bodies. As soon as he steps past the threshold, he’s searching for you, his heart rate skyrocketing because of what he’s about to do. But he can’t find you. Or Bokuto.

He continues to push and shove his way through the entire house, his eyes rapidly moving from one face to the next, hoping to spot you. The quickened pulse that started moment ago when he was thinking about declaring his feelings is now rushing through his veins at the thought that you'd left with his teammate.

He identifies Oikawa and slowly makes it over to him. His captain is talking with Kawanishi, and Tsukishima taps him on the shoulder when he comes within reach. Oikawa turns to look at him, surprise widening his eyes before a sloppy, smug grin rolls over his face. Oikawa’s obviously wasted.

“Have you seen [Name]?” He asks, leaning in close enough that his senpai can hear him above the din of the party.

Oikawa’s face drops, pity clouding his feature, “Sh’left wif Kou-kun a while ago.” 

His stomach drops and he can taste the bile and alcohol as it threatens to come up. His distress must show on his face because he’s being pulled into a hug. A sweaty, uncomfortable hug.

“Oikawa-san, you really don’t have to,” he sighs.

His senpai unlatches himself, patting him on the shoulder just a little too hard. “No use cryin’ o’re thinks you can’t change.”

Thanks for the words of comfort, asshole. Tsukishima glares at the ground and shoves his glasses back up his nose.

“Les get smashed, my pathetic kohai!” 

He looks up at Oikawa who’s flushed and grinning like a damn fool. It takes him half a second to make a decision. 

Between getting blackout drunk or slinking back to his room to cry alone in the dark, he chooses alcohol.

 

**++++++**

 

It’s a week later and Tsukishima has been avoiding you. He woke up the following morning with a splitting headache and shattered heart, and, though he should have probably called to check in, he didn’t think he could bear to hear or see you when all it would have done was remind him you both chose someone else the night before.

After that, one day turned into two. Then three, and so forth until the week had passed. Of course you’d called and texted, something he ardently ignored. He even took to spending as much of his free time hidden away at the library, only to return his dorm room to sleep, thereby escaping the possibility of your turning up at his door.

It’s not like you both haven’t ever gotten too busy to be around one another. You were in university, after all. However, neither of you went even half a day without texting, or phone calls, and the occasional video call. By not answering any of your attempts at contact, he knew that you’d know he’s avoiding you.

It wasn’t easy, though. He missed you terribly. He missed your smile and laugh. He missed the way you got distracted by social media every five minutes when trying to concentrate on your homework. He missed when neither of you had anything occupying your time, you’d scoot up to and lean against him, your head on his shoulder. He missed the heat of your presence and the comfort of knowing you were close.

Yet, every time he wanted to cave and seek you out, he was reminded of the party. Every practice he had was a slap in the face as he shared a court with Bokuto, his senpai whom he respected...and hated. He’d done a little to avenge his crushed heart by making it his mission to be the biggest pain in the ass to the spiker every chance he got. Every time they faced off across the net, he zeroed in on Bokuto like a sniper. He shut down so many of his powerful spikes that by the end of the week, Bokuto was ready to quit the team, convinced he was no longer a useful player. It gave him only the smallest sense of satisfaction, but visions of you two...copulating kept him feeling completely guilty for his pettiness.

Everyone seems to know something is wrong with him (except for Oikawa, who knew everything and observed him with pitying eyes). No one inquired, though, the demonic glint in his gold eyes enough to put off even the friendliest teammate. 

His only consolation is that his blocking skills increased significantly enough to catch the attention of their coach. So much so that the last practice of the week saw him receiving a uniform and a spot on reserve. It was a major accomplishment for him, he’d contented himself with his place on the periphery of the team as a first year. Still, it was bittersweet since he couldn’t share the good news with you. Even Yamaguchi’s excited shouting and praise was hollow.

However, it was a video call with both Kageyama and Hinata that shook him from his melancholy and lit the proverbial fire under his scared ass.

“So where’s [Name]? Has she heard about your big promotion?” Hinata scratched at a round cheek as he beamed at Tsukishima through the screen. 

“Yeah, where is your better half,” Kageyama added, looking as irritated as ever even though his voice is soft with pride.

Under normal circumstances, he would roll his eyes and make some snappy comeback. However, he is already raw from nerves and guilt, and it must show in his usually composed expression.

“Uh oh, what did you do now, Meanshima?” Hinata frowns at him from a pixelated screen.

He glares at Hinata, not in the mood for a lecture or whatever it is that Hinata is prepared to do. Since your inception into the group, the Shrimp has been your unofficial bodyguard. Why Hinata felt the need to protect you when you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, he’ll never understand.

“What makes you think  _ I  _ did anything?” His defense lacks any real bite, he’s too depressed to put any effort into being angry.”

“Because it’s you,” Kageyama answers for Hinata. 

He really doesn’t want to deal with their half-teases. He says as much as he sighs, frowning into the camera, “Look guys, I’m really tired and stuff, and really not in the mood for this...whatever it is, so, imma go.”

He makes a move to hang up when Hinata hollers at him to wait. He pauses, staring at his redheaded friend with a suspicious eyebrow raised.

“Seriously, Tsukishima, what’s going on?” Hinata looks sincerely concerned now and Kageyama is nodding in the split screen.

He isn’t sure how to answer. He’s not sure how much he wants these two to know about his feelings for you. They have enough blackmail on him as it is.

Carefully setting his mask to neutral, he replies, “I’m fine.”

Hinata watches him for a moment, eyebrows pulled low in concentration. Tsukishima swallows, suddenly nervous. Kageyama stares into the screen, eyes glazed and bored.

“Is this about your feelings for [Name]?” Hinata finally asks, the tension snapping.

His breath hitches. How could that idiot have ever picked up on that? To be fair, Hinata is more observant than most people know. Still, was sure he was always careful around you. Has he been mistaken all this time?

“I don’t know what you mean,” his voice tight, and he goes for denial, his default attitude when confronted about anything too personal.

“Seriously?” Kageyama asks, bemused and picking at dirt beneath his nails. “Are you really gonna continue to lie about how you really feel?”

He can’t help the shock that comes over his face. Even Kageyama knows?! How far has he fallen to lose so much control over his composure?

“Are you gonna tell us what really happened?” Hinata asks again, voice gentle and reassuring.

He sighs, slumping back in his seat, sure his face is red from embarrassment. “Do you think she knows?”

“Probably,” Kageyama bluntly states causing him to groan in hopelessness as he buries his face in his hands.

“I think the question you should be asking, Tsukki, is how does she feel?”

“Not the same, I can tell you that,” he huffs, picking up a pencil and tapping the end of it anxiously before tossing it away. He doesn’t really know how to feel about...this; being seen through so completely.

“How can you be so sure?” 

His eyes flick up to Hinata who’s watching him very seriously.

“She slept with Bokuto,” he hadn’t meant to spill your personal business like that, even to your friends. He’s just so downtrodden, in love, and unable to discharge these feelings.

“Wha?!” Hinata exclaims quietly in the back ground.

“So, she’s slept with other guys before. What’s changed?” Kageyama is actually starting to look invested in their conversation again. Hinata nods in agreement, “True, true.”

He doesn’t really know how to explain his feelings without sounding petty and more pathetic than he already is. He stares at the fake wood grains in his desk, and shrugs. “It just is.”

Hinata sighs, “For someone so smart, you’re awfully dumb.”

He raises his eyes to glower at Hinata with every ounce of irritable feeling he owns. Hinata visibly swallows and backs away from his computer screen like he’s expecting his friend to crawl through it and choke him. Hinata might not be far off the mark.

“Wha-what I mean,” Hinata stutters to clarify, “Is that you two have been dancing around each other forever.”

He raises his head, now, too afraid to hope that Hinata is talking about what he  _ hopes  _ he’s talking about. He must look just that— _ hopeful _ —because Hinata gets bolder as he continues.

“It’s obvious you both like each other, how can you not have seen it? I just can’t understand why it’s taking you two so long to get over yourselves.” Hinata shakes his head like a disappointed parent.

“You’re wrong,” he chokes out. Hinata can’t be correct in this. He  _ can’t.  _ There is  _ no way _ you’ve felt the same for him all this time and have never said anything. Hinata can’t be right.

A memory of the night of the party and the look that passed between you two fades in and out of his mind. He shakes his head. He knows he imagined…

“Why is he wrong?”

He’s brought hurtling back from his anxious thoughts by Kageyama’s curious question. All he can do is stare back into blue eyes unable to process what was asked of him.

“B-because,” is his only defense. Why are these idiots making him think of these things?! Why are they encouraging this...this  _ hope _ to build within him when he  _ knows _ it’s futile?!

“Really Tsukishima? Because?” Kageyama raises a condescending eyebrow at him, and he sort of wonders if how he feels now is how they alway felt talking to him.

“Yeah, Tsukki. We should get Yamaguchi on here ‘cause he speaks your language. He’d know what to say to knock some sense into you.”

All he can do is stare, bewildered by their intervention. Because this is what  _ this  _ is...an intervention. Apparently things have gotten so bad that the idiot duo feels the need to intervene on his behalf.

“I-I just don’t understand…” he stammers. 

Hinata sighs again, this time in real irritation, “Geez, Tsukki, use that big brain and think about it. You two became fast friends. You hung out all the time.  _ Alone _ .”

He wrinkles his nose at Hinata, shaking his head in denial, “As you said, we are friends, that’s what friends do.”

“Not to the point she did with you,” Kageyama contests. “She had other friends but she spent all her time with you.”

His heart was stomping in his chest. They were right, of course, he just never thought of it that way. In high school he was so focused on his last year that he didn’t even consider the possibility of you returning his feelings. He was always just happy that he had your friendship. He considered himself lucky he even had that considering his emotional constipation.

Yet, here he was, having a Come To Jesus meeting with the two dumbest people he knows, and being schooled by them. Oh how Karma can go fuck itself.

“She never said anything.” He didn’t know why he continued to put up a fight. Maybe it was that all this time he could have had you how he wanted. If only he hadn’t been dumb and blind you would be his already.

“Neither did you,” Hinata answered softly. 

He gazed back at the two faces on screen. One smiling because he’d finally,  _ finally  _ understood. The other, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“I gotta go!” He barely gave them time to answer before he logged off. He need to take care of this. Now.

For so long he’s loved you from a distance, keeping space between you both in case you might know how he felt. All this time he hid behind your friendship, too cowardly to own up to his feelings when you have obviously—at least now it’s obvious—felt the same. And for what? To sit and watch you slip away from him again and into the arms of someone else.

Well, not anymore. He didn’t care who you were with. He didn’t give a damn if anything happened between you and Bokuto, or if anything continues to be between you two. 

If you still harbor  _ any  _ feelings at all for him, he’s gonna grab ahold of them and never let go.

He darts around his room, gathering his belongings; his wallet, jacket, and keys. He jams his feet into his shoes, barely taking time to tie them before bolting from his dorm room, shoving his arms into his jacket as he trots down the hall. He takes the stairs three at a time because he can, and because it’s faster than the slow-ass elevator in his building.

He takes the exit out the side of the building, and takes off at a slow jog. Your dorm building isn’t far from his and he’s at the main entrance in minutes. He’s barely broken a sweat or breathing hard, and he’s hella nervous, yet weirdly calm.

It isn’t until he’s standing in front of your door, having knocked, that he remembers, oh yeah, he’s been  _ avoiding  _ you…

The door cracks open, your face appearing in the gap. For a moment you stand there staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief. There are dark patches beneath your eyes and your hair is a mess, but he drinks in the vision of you as he mentally kicks himself for taking so long to see you.

Before he can say anything, your expression goes dark and the door slams in his face. He stands there, momentarily shocked that where your face was, a solid, dirty white door now takes its place. He knocks again, unsure what else to do, but committed to his course of action. He knows you’re pissed (hence the slammed door), but he will beg if need be.

You don’t answer him, though he’s sure you’re still standing on the other side, most likely glaring at the door. He’s pretty sure he can feel your ire through the solid material.

It’s not as if you two have never fought. On the contrary, you two fight  _ all  _ the time. You piss him off, he pisses you off; it’s just part and parcel of your relationship, and it never amounts to much beyond one of you storming off for a few hours until you both have calmed down enough to see reason. He wonders now how he’s never seen how deep your relationship goes; how you two have all the intimacy of a couple-hood without the physical extension.

However, neither of you have ever gone this far in your feelings. Neither of you have avoided the other or ignored calls, and he knows he’s crossed a line, and he prays that you will forgive him; that he hasn’t irreparably damaged any chance he might have at finally making you his.

He leans against the door, forehead resting against the cold, hard metal. “[Name], open up, please.”

Nothing.

“Seriously, [Name]. Open the door.”

“Why?!” You’re voice comes through, hollow and muffled by the door. Still, the edge to your tone could slice through it like a sharp blade. His heart aches because he’s obviously hurt you.

He sighs. Here comes the begging.

“Look, [Name], I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you. Please open the door.” He pours all the honest feeling of repentance into his words, hoping you can hear how sorry he is. 

You must because the door suddenly swings inward while he’s still leaning on it. He has to rush to catch himself on the frame or else face plant at your feet, which may be more bearable than the cold look you’re giving him now from inside your room. You don’t even crack a smile at his near accident.

“That’s it? You ignore me for a week—a whole  _ fucking week _ —and one little,” here you pitch your voice mockingly, “‘I’m sorry’ is supposed to fix it?!”

He winces. In all of the times you’ve ever been angry with him, affection always hovered just under the irritation. Now you’re staring at him, your eyes are like steel, and you voice as cold as ice. He hates it. He doesn’t know what to do. All he wants is to gather you in his arms and kiss you; tell you how much he loves you and to ‘please forgive me, I’ll never ignore you again’. However, he’s not entirely stupid, he knows that making a move like that, despite what Hinata and Kageyama think, will only make you explode.

He sighs again because he knows that if he plans to confess to you, he first needs to fix this. 

“I am sorry,” he pleads, “It was stupid of me.”

“Then why’d you do it?” You stand back even further, putting more space between you, and cross your arms over your chest. Space has never been an issue for either of you. It hurts now to see you being so defensive. It hurts worse knowing he’s created the chasm himself.

“Can I come in first?” He requests, clasping his hands in front of him, hesitant and submissive.

For a moment you don’t say anything, only look at him through narrowed eyes. Finally you step aside, giving him room to squeeze pass you. You shut the door behind him, then stalk over to the bed and plop down heavily. You pull your legs up into a crisscross, still folding your arms across your chest. For some reason you remind him of those clan leaders from the old TV dramas his grandfather used to love to watch. There’s an air of authority clinging to you, and he kinda wants to supplicate himself at your feet and beg mercy—mercy for being the biggest, dumbest idiot in all of Japan.

Instead, he shuffles to the bed to gingerly take a seat beside you. You don’t acknowledge him, you don’t even glance in his direction. You both sit in silence for a while as he gathers his thoughts and courage.

“I don’t get you.” You’re the first to break the silence. “I mean, I know you have issues with sharing your feelings, but if I’ve done something wrong you’ve never failed to let me know before. Why would you leave me hanging for a  _ week _ , Tsukishima? I thought we were closer than that.”

He watches you from the corner of his eye. Your chin trembles, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it as you restrain from crying. He’s never seen you cry before, and he feels like an even bigger douche because of it. He sighs.

“I’m sorry.”

You suck in a deep breath and press the heels of your palms to your eyes. You climb off the bed to slowly pace the floor in front of him, swiping a hand through your hair to move it out of your face. “Yeah, you’ve said that already. Doesn’t explain  _ why _ you did though, does it?” You stop and turn to him, hands on your hips. “I’m just so  _ mad  _ at you, Tsukishima.”

He winces and he can’t look at you, so he fidgets, fingers twisting in his lap. “Yeah, I know.”

A few seconds pass, you start tapping your toe on the rug. “Well?!”

He glances up, your frustrated expression staring back at him. His eyes automatically dart around the room. He’s being backed into a corner, and while he’d come planning to share his feelings, he’s feeling a bit trapped. He’s starting to panic.

“Look, I said I’m sorry, alright. I know it was stupid, I was...I was just going through something, and it took me a few days to finally get over it.” Why was he being so vague? Didn’t he come to tell you how he felt? This was as good a place to start as any. So why so defensive?

As he stares warily at you, you glare back at him. All of a sudden he knows why he is faltering. Despite his earlier conversation with Hinata and Kageyama, he is quickly losing the confidence he had about your feelings for him. Truthfully, now he can’t believe he actually thought you like him back. If he thought about it, Hinata and Kageyama never said you explicitly stated your feelings to them, only that they  _ thought _ you felt the same. Seriously though, you’d started at Karasuno your  _ last  _ year of high school, having moved halfway across the planet to a strange country. It was only a month or two into the school year when you first started hanging with them. How much time had you really to make friends before joining their little troupe? For all he knew, they could have been your only real school friends. Yeah, he was dumb to think you actually like him. This was a mistake. He can see it in your face. He is nothing but your friend. Albeit, a bad one at the moment.

“That’s it? You were “just going through something”?” You say this, making quotations in the air. Ohh...he was not making things any better.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, shoulders hunching at how lame he sounds right now.

“Get out.”

His eyes go wide, you’re throwing him out?

“[Name].”

You shake your head, “Uh huh, out. I can’t deal with you right now.”

He stands, feeling defeated. He trudges to the door, belatedly noticing he hadn’t even removed his shoes. He glances over his shoulder once, his hand on the door knob. 

Your back is to him, one hand on your hip and the other on your forehead. For some reason this makes him angry, so he twists part way around, and without thinking about the consequences he snaps, “You know, we wouldn’t be this way if you hadn’t been flirting with Bokuto.”

He originally wanted to bring this up only to tell you it's part of what spurred his reason to confess. Now he just sounds accusatory, and he can tell it was the wrong thing to say when you swing around looking appalled.

“What?”

Well, he’s already on the way to hell, he might as well go down in burning flames. He turns fully, arms crossed and head tilted so he can glare down at you. “You heard me. At the party last week, you went home with Bokuto-san.”

Has he grown an extra head? Because that’s how you’re looking at him; as if he just transformed into some horrific monster in front of you.

“ _ That’s  _ what this is about?! Me and Bokuto?!”

His stomach swoops when you say, “me and Bokuto”. So it’s true, then. There is something more between you two. He wants to throw up. Instead he pushes forward, determined to punish you now. He’s past caring anymore, too crushed by your confession to give thought to how his words might just shatter your friendship. It doesn’t matter anyway, he doesn’t think he can stand by and watch  _ that  _ fool have you, he’d rather end things here and now.

“Yeah, [Name], your taste in men has always been questionable but I never took you for shallow.”

You flinch as if he actually slapped you, your eyes growing round with shock. Tsukishima Kei teases, pushes at people’s weak spots just to see them react. If he likes you, his provocation is less poisonous, more playful. You’ve seen him reduce people to tears, you’ve been at the end of the barrel of his playful mocking, but he’s never turned his whip-like tongue on you before. He’s never lashed out to draw blood. 

The moment the words leave his mouth he’s immediately sorry he said them. He’s never let his feelings get the best of him like this before, he’s just at the end of his rope; his feelings for you wrung so tight he’s about to split apart. He slipped, but he can’t take it back now.

For a moment you look as if your about to cry, your expression crumpling and your eyes shimmering with moisture. He takes a step forward, hand outstretched, his own expression sorrowful. “[Name], I’m-that was too far…”

However, instead of breaking down, you square up your shoulders, your face taking on real wrath, “You ASSHOLE!”

He snaps back, a little afraid for his life.

“You seriously have the  _ BALLS _ to judge me when you skipped off with that...that red headed skank?!”

Oh yeah, he forgot about that. He hunches his shoulders in humiliation. Unfazed by his change in attitude, you continue to tear into him, “Let’s not forget about that bitch three months ago, what was her name? Did you even ask her? Your track record is nothing to brag about Tsukishima Kei! What? Do you have a kink for simpering, fake twats with a ‘notice me Sempai’ complex?”

His mouth drops open as your tirade continues. To be fair, he was never considering personality compatibility when getting laid, only chemistry. It never mattered to him what the girls were like when the only girl who mattered wouldn’t even consider him. So, in that sense you were right. Still, he wasn’t going to take your confrontation laying down.

“Now hold on a minute, [Name]. If you wanna get real, I may have taken the low road for sex, but at least I was honest about my intentions. I was never deluded enough to think I wanted anymore from them. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Shall we list all  _ your  _ bad choices. Every guy you attempted to date that didn’t last more than a month?!”

You gasp, the offended look on your face almost comical. “How  _ dare  _ you! It was an honest effort I made in my relationships. It’s not like I  _ planned _ to break up with them.”

“Then why did you? Why didn’t you choose just one? So I had one night stands, but I had my reasons. What about you? You’re like a...a serial dater.” He watches you, smug because you kind of deflate after that, your eyes darting around the room as you search for an answer. Neither of you had expected this conversation to go this way, but it seems you both had issues with the other’s personal choices. 

“Why didn’t you?” You’re still not looking directly at him.

He stares blankly at you, “What?”

“Why didn’t you date any of...them?” You wave a hand in the air as if the gesture encompasses his sexual history. Which isn’t as bad as you make it sound.

Vaguely, he notices that your stalling, that you’ve deflected his question. He narrows his eyes. What aren’t you saying?

“I asked you first.”

“Um…” Your eyes are wide again, and you look like you’ve been caught in a lie. Wait a minute…

“What aren’t you telling me?” He demands, standing straighter, and once again crossing his arms in front of him.

You stand in the middle of your room, a blush spreading across your cheek bones, refusing to look at him. You sputter, trying to come up with an answer, then you flail your arms in the air in exasperation, and you huff angrily. 

“Ugh...fuck you, Tsukki, it’s none of your business.”

Interesting. He tilts his head, a grin slipping onto his face, and now you’re looking back at him with worry furrowing your brow. You chew on your lip, trying to compose yourself, but it’s too late.

“Are you dating someone I don’t know about?” He’s pretty sure that’s not what this is about. His heart begins a frantic beat behind his ribs.

“No,” you scoff, but the edge is gone. You just look really nervous. You swallow hard. “Look, I had my reasons too, so why don’t we just leave it at that.”

He considers your white flag. Your backing down suddenly?

Perhaps...perhaps it  _ is _ a little of everything. Perhaps you didn’t have much time to make friends before you started hanging out with them. Perhaps feelings for him grew out of that impromptu friendship. Perhaps Hinata and Kageyama have been correct in their assumption and both of you have just been too afraid to say how you feel out loud. Perhaps his gut feeling is right and all he has to do is take a chance.

It’s now or never…

He steps away from the door, crossing the room in barely two steps before he’s standing directly in front of you. Your head tilts back so you can look up into his face.

“What are you doing?” You’re watching him, suspicion drawing lines in your forehead, but you stand your ground. All the better for him.

He doesn’t answer you, and his heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised you can’t hear it. He raises trembling hands and cups your face. Your eyes grow so wide your eyebrows disappear beneath your bangs. “Tsukki…” you whisper, nervous.

He leans forward, closing his eyes, and barely brushes his lips against yours, your sharp inhale igniting a fire in him. It’s not enough to really know the way your lips feel, but it’s enough to make him want to go back for more. Instead, he leans back and opens his eyes as you exhale a shuddering breath. It the most satisfying thing he’s ever heard.

Your eyes open slowly and you don’t say anything. He stares into your eyes, searching yours for an answer to his silent question; “Was that okay?”

The only answer you give is to quite suddenly smash your face into his, desperately kissing him like he’s fresh air you haven’t breathed in a while. He’s caught off guard, but definitely pleased. He smiles into the kiss, trying to restrain you even a little so he can get control back, though he should have known better. All you do is knock his hands away, then curl your arms around his shoulders, and press your body flush to his. His eyes open wide in surprise, only to see you gazing back at him, pupils already blown with desperation and lust. 

Oh  _ fuck _ …

This...he wasn’t expecting this. The yelling? Yeah, he kinda expected that. Your returning the kiss? He’d hoped for it. This is so. Much. Better. Kissing you is like that feeling you get as you crawl toward the top of the first drop of a rollercoaster; his stomach is swooping and his heart pounding, both nervousness and excitement rushing through his bloodstream as anticipation builds.

Feeling a little bolder now, he wraps his arms around you, one arm around your waist and the other pressing between your shoulder blades. He does what he’s been dreaming about for over a year, he pulls you close, relishing in the feel of you slotting into his arms like a missing puzzle piece.

Your tongue drags along his bottom lip, and he doesn’t even hesitate to open his mouth. Your lips are everything he’s ever thought they would be; so soft and plush, and when your tongue delves into his mouth and he gets his first true taste of you, he can’t even be embarrassed by the satisfied groan that comes out. You swallow it up with one of your own, clinging to him tighter, hands sliding up his neck and into his hair where your fingers tangle in the thick, blonde strands, nails scraping at his scalp. The feeling of having your hands anywhere on his person sends shivers like electric sparks up and down his spine, culminating in his dick. He would be embarrassed by how hard he’s getting if he didn’t already want you so bad.

Vaguely he thinks he should probably stop this, you two really ought to talk about things first before you leap too far, but he’s having difficulty thinking anything that isn’t,  _ “I can’t believe this is really happening. Holy shit, is this real?!” _

Your kisses have barely slowed as you eagerly explore his mouth, and he truly can’t say it’s anything less than stellar. He loves the feeling of your tongue on his, sliding and curling, grazing teeth, and generally mapping out every inch. It’s amazing, he could literally spend hours like this. However, as greedy as it sounds, he wants more. He’s waited too long to stop with simple kissing.

Heat burns just beneath his skin; licks of flame that spread out from everywhere your body is pressed against his. His instincts take over as logical thinking is overwhelmed by the need to  _ take you _ . He’s not even thinking about it as he takes a step forward, and like a dance, he guides you until your back is flush against the wall and his hands are gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

Of course you have to be shorter than him (most people are), so the angle at which he has to bend is awkward. He pulls back enough to stare into your eyes, watching you for the slightest hesitance as he allows his hands to slip onto the small of your back and drift over the slope of your phenomenal ass. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip, arching into his palms when he massages the firm flesh still contained in your yoga pants. 

“Kei…” the whisper of your voice floats in the small space between you and him. In the time you’ve known each other he’s never heard his given name fall from your lips with such raw desire. Like warm water, it covers and fills him, sending shivers of pleasure and want down his spine, his cock thickening until the confinement of his jeans become uncomfortable. He bites his lip, then kisses you, containing the needy whine bubbling up within him, his mouth and tongue insistent as well as desperate. His hands slip down to the back of your thighs, gripping at them beneath your pants before he hefts you off the floor, your soft squeal a rewarding response.

Your arms wrap tightly around his neck and shoulders, and your legs wrap around his waist, the feeling of the muscles in your thighs flexing around him causing more and more heat to pool in his lower stomach. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but your weight sits perfectly on him without too much strain. He’s so comfortable having you so close and fitting so well in his arms. 

Your hips roll as he trails open mouth kisses from your mouth, down your jaw, and to your neck, leaving marks he knows others will see. The fading smell of the perfume you often wear combined with the way you keep grinding into him makes his head swim. He ruts back against you, the friction both wonderful and lacking. The way you claw at his back through his shirt, or pull at his hair makes his cock throb. There’s too many articles of clothing between you, he wants you naked. Now.

He steadies you with large hands beneath your ass, getting his feet under him. Then he pulls you away from the wall, still kissing your mouth and your neck. He makes his way as quick as possible to your bed, planting one knee on the soft mattress and leaning over with an arm wrapped around your waist and the other providing the stability he needs to lay you gently on your back. You’re like a kola, you haven’t let him go yet, and he chuckles.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” You gasp, panting heavily from the intense make out.

He grins down at you, his heart swelling and his chest aching he loves you so much. “You act like I’ll get up and leave if you let go for even a second.”

You look away with a pout on your gorgeous face, bottom lip protruding comically, “Do you blame me? I’ve wanted this for a long time.” You blink back up at him, your cheeks pink with exertion and your expression shy. 

If he thought he loved you before, it’s nothing to the way he feels now as he looks at you, like his feelings are expanding so much and so quickly he might explode out of his skin.

This time when he kisses you, it’s slow and soft but no less full of the passion he holds for you alone. As you return his kisses, it’s like he can feel everything you can’t say to him right now. Everything he’s almost missed out on because of blind ignorance.

Ever so slowly, despite hands that stop to wander and explore, he peels away the layers of clothes separating him from your warm, flushed skin. When he has you fully naked he sits back to admire your beautiful body; all the curves and valleys your clothes have only hinted at all the times he’s looked at you.

He leans forward, one arm carrying his weight as he drags calloused fingers gently over your bare flesh starting at your neck. He traces your collar bone with his fingertips, then down your sternum until his fingers outline the small scar just above your heart. You gained it falling off your bike when your were eight, an inconsequential bit of information you shared with him during one of the many conversations he’s had with you over the year plus he’s known you. It’s pointless and had nothing to do with him, but he finds its knowledge he still loves that he knows because it’s you and he’s so gone for you.

He catches your eye, you’re chewing lightly on one of your nails, watching him with mild curiosity as he tours your body with blatant veneration. Your cheeks are still flushed, but not necessarily because of any effort on your part. He thinks you may be slightly flustered by his attention, but he also thinks you’re enjoying it. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as his fingers glide from the scar to circle around your areola. There’s a slight gasp that escapes you and you arch into his touch. He bends an elbow, sinking slowly, and when he’s only a breath away from your hardened nipple, he flicks his tongue out, barely catching the rosy bud on the tip. Your breath hitches again, and he stretches out, making himself more comfortable before taking your nipple into his open mouth.

You’re beautiful, the way you arch your back, trying to press more of your breast against his lips, the way your chin tilts back as your mouth drops open to keen softly, and the way one hand flies to the back of his head to once again grip his hair.

He sucks at your breast, alternating between teasing your erect nipple and leaving soft open mouthed kisses to the plush flesh surrounding it. Eventually he kisses his way across your chest to your other breast, not wanting you to become used to the sensation of his mouth. 

You roll your hips, grinding into his chest, and it’s so hot he can’t help but seek the friction comes from rutting against your bed. Precum has made his underwear warm and wet but he doesn’t care. 

Next, he kisses down your stomach, your belly smooth and soft. He digs his fingers into your sides as he goes, dragging his blunt nails across your skin. Both of your hands are tangled in his hair, sporadically tightening and releasing. He knows your not trying to tease him, but every time you yank on his hair, he dives a little closer to an orgasm. He never knew it could feel so good to have his hair pulled.

He gets to your pubic line and kisses down to that vale between the top of your pussy and your thigh, then drags his tongue over it. Not surprisingly, but he’s almost drooling at the thought of tasting your cunt. He’s tried to keep his eyes on you, but they’ve closed and he opens them to look at you again. Your biting your lip, leaning up on your elbows watching him. Eagerness makes them shine in the low light of your room. When he pushes one of your legs away, there’s no resistance from you. You spread wide for him, a ready invitation for him to wander the silky, wet skin of your pussy.

He tucks his other arm beneath your thigh, lifting the leg to hang over his shoulder, then dips down to drag his tongue the length of your taint to your clit. His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh and he shivers at the lewd moan you let loose as your head falls back. He does it again just to hear you make that sound, then digs his tongue between the folds, the tip drawing slow, random patterns just beneath your clit. Your hips undulate like lethargic waves against his face, seeking more of his tongue.

“Tsu...kki…” you groan in want, your harsh breaths like the best symphony, “shit...more…”

He groans in response, curling his tongue around your clit, then placing his whole mouth over it and sucking hard. Your head hits the mattress as your back arches like your possessed, one hand gripping the sheet, the other digging into his hair. He’s stopped teasing now, his stiffening his tongue and delving into your soaked core, fucking you in earnest, and both arms now curled around your thighs to pull you tight against his mouth. It takes him a moment to realize half of the noises he’s hearing are his own moans, his hips rutting harshly against the bed for any kind of relief.

He didn’t know someone could taste so good. Over the last year, he’s wrapped his hand around his cock thinking of this moment; of your taste, your scent, the way you’d move and sound. The reality is every bit as alluring as his fantasies and then some. Your sweet with a hint of salt, just like your personality, and if he didn’t feel as if his dick would explode, he’d have his face between your thighs for hours. As distracted as he is by your breathy moans, he knows he can’t help but think he’s gonna eat you out as often as humanly possible from this moment on.

He slips one arm from beneath your thighs, and plunges two fingers into your tight hole beside his tongue. He finger fucks you, quick and hard, reaching as far as he can inside, turning his attention to your clit. He alternates between sucking the erect nub and laving at your core with his mouth. You’re full on riding his face and he’s loving it, even if he’s forgotten to remove his glasses and you’re making a mess on them.

“Tsukki...imma...I’m gonna cu…”

He renews his effort, determination to have you come on his tongue setting in. He can’t remember the last time he’s worked so hard at something that’s not sports or school related and loved every fucking second.

Your movements become erratic, your hips jerking like your having a seizure and the hand in his hair pulls harshly. Your legs automatically try to close, but he keeps them open with both hands, continuing to fuck you on his tongue as you wail wordlessly. Creamy warmth fills his mouth, and his eyes nearly roll back to his head. He moans into your pussy, your hips stuttering as you finish out your orgasm. It’s not long after that you pull away, overstimulated, and he rests his head on one of your thighs as he wills his own orgasm to back the fuck off. He’s not through with you, yet.

You sink into the mattress, loose and relaxed. Fingers trace his jaw and he looks up at you. You’re trying to look at him without raising your head, you lazy thing. You grin at him and whisper, “Come up here.”

He complies, happily, stripping off his shirt and glasses as he goes. As he lowers himself onto you, you pull off his glasses and place them on the table next to your bed, then turn back to him to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

You kiss him, and he’s slightly shocked you don’t seem to care his face is covered in your slick. You immediately dive you tongue into his mouth, kissing him with as much gusto as you did when you first began. He thinks it’s seriously fucking hot that he’s tasting you twice, and he grinds into you, still rock hard.

Your hands roam up into his hair again, then make their way back down, across his shoulders and over his biceps, then back up to slide down his chest. His hands are everywhere, trying to memorize as much of your skin as possible. Your fingers duck between you where your pressed along his hips. Your fingertips trace the waist of his jeans before you reach down to cup him in your small palm. The shudder that travels from his head to his toes is telling of how much he wants you in this moment.

You grind your palm against him, making him growl, and moan, and nip at your lips with his teeth.

“Fuck [Name]...I want you...I want to be inside you so bad.”

He says these things without breaking the kiss, and he doesn’t even know why he’s talking, or where this is coming from. He’s surprised he’s even coherent enough to use language. He would normally be ashamed to be so upfront and blunt about his feelings and desires, but having you beneath him is doing something he has no control over, like you’ve cast a spell, and he’s too weak to resist. He doesn’t even want to at this point.

You hum a reply into the kiss, your hand pulling away from his aching cock. His brain is screaming for you to keep rubbing him, but his breath hitches when your deft fingers find the button of his pants and flick it open. The zipper goes next, then your both pushing and shoving at the articles of clothing until he can kick them off the bed.

The feel of your naked cunt sliding against the underside of his stiff cock sends fire bolts and electrical currents shooting down his spine to pool in his stomach. You’re wet again, and he doesn’t know if he should smirk or just be grateful. He’s not even thinking when he reaches between you, wrapping his finger around his girth and dragging the crown of his dick between your slick lips as he lines himself up with your hole.

You’re trembling as he slowly pushes his way in, shaking fingers grabbing at his shoulders. This feeling is even better than the feeling of you in his mouth. You’re tighter than he’d imagined, but no less hot and wet, and he groans, detaching from the kiss so he can press his face into your neck. Once he’s fully sheathed, he stalls, both from wanting to savor the moment and to stave off an unintentional ending to your time together.

You’re no better, panting harshly, little pleasured mewls echoing in his ear. You’re so stiff beneath him and he briefly wonders if he’s causing you any discomfort. He raises up on his elbow to look at your face and he’s stunned into stillness by what he sees.

The muscles in your arms are strained as your fingers continue to grip him tightly, and your face is scrunched up in what looks like pain or something. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your clamping down on your top lip, but what has him worried are the tears that build and slowly descend down your temples.

“Hey...hey,” he whispers at you, using the thumb of his free hand to swipe at the tears gathering underneath your eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Have I done something wrong?” Ice is growing in his veins at the thought of causing you physical pain.

Your eyes snap open and immediately fall on him, a sob escaping before you can catch it. More tears slip down your face as you gasp, words finally finding an outlet.

“Oh shit, I’m...I...fuck, I love you, Kei.”  You attempt to contain another sob, covering your face with a shaky hand.

A few things happen after that. First, if it’s possible, he grows only harder inside you, his cock throbbing as his heart pumps fresh blood between his legs. Second, after he’s finished staring at you with blatant awe and relief, he surges down to capture your lips with his in a bruising kiss, calling out your name as he does so. Lastly, he starts moving, rolling his hips in hard waves and sinking himself as deep as he can, making you cry out amidst your tears.

“[Name],” he groans, [Name], fuck...I love you, too.”

That causes you to cry out more and wrap your legs and arms even tighter around him. You bear down on him as he thrusts into you, rolling your own hips in time with his, the muscles that make up the heat that grips him, clench harder as he drives himself deep into you.

His body buzzes from head to toe like an exposed wire. He lacks any of the cool he’s held for most of his life as the most embarrassing noise falls from his slack jaw, blending with the sweet cadence of your voice. His eyes fight to close, and he forces them to stay open so he can memorize the way you look arching beneath him, your head tilted back and mouth open. You’re so beautiful right now...so mesmerizing. 

Still balanced on his elbow, his other hand slides up your thigh to grip your leg behind your knee. He pushes that leg toward your chest, changing the angle of his thrust.

“Oh god, YES,” you holler, one hand diving into his hair and pulling as you rock your hips against his, “Don’t stop!”

You’re a wreck; sweating with stray strands of your hair plastered about your face and pillow. You’re flushed, gazing at him through glazed eyes and murmuring nonsense. He’s not all that much better, his eyes locked on yours as a steady string of moans pour out of his open mouth. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling. He’s also pretty sure your going to kill him.

His heart pounds harder than it ever has for volleyball, exertion making it race, and an over abundance of emotions making it ballon. He’s never felt anything this intense, never felt so...connected...

And...holy fuck, he’s ninety percent sure he's tapping your cervix.

You’re holding him so firmly, arms unyielding and barely letting centimeters between you. Your heels press against the back of his thighs, digging in so his thrusts pulse, barely letting him do more than pull out enough to push forward again. It’s more passionate than desperate at this point, but it’s oh so amazing. He didn’t know it was possible to sink so far into someone emotionally and physically. 

God, he’s  _ never  _ felt this good. The heat of it all, the way you grind against him, matching his rhythm, the way you look all sexed out because he made you that way; all of it coils and burns low in his gut. His thighs are shaking with effort and his impending orgasm. He can tell your close too because your trembling all over and spasming around his cock. He wants to see you come, to watch as he unravels you until your nothing but loose and satisfied. He wants to see you blissed out because of him so bad he’s throbbing inside you.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, “[Name] you’re mine now. I love you, you belong to me.”

Your voice drops as you let out the dirtiest sound he’s ever heard. With your eyes locked into him, you arch your back on last time, tensing up as you’re sent over the edge and climaxing. Your hands stretch low, long nails digging into the meat of his ass as you try to push him further in.

Seeing you like this—seeing the culmination of the last year and a half of pining end with you coming on his dick hurls him into his own orgasm. Belatedly, he realizes he’s forgot a condom, but it’s too late for him to stop. He wouldn’t anyway. The knowledge that he’s spilling inside you only heightens the pleasure as his cock pulses, and he comes  _ hard.  _ His whole body is on fire as he fucks you through the end of your orgasm while you milk him of his. Stream after stream of thick cum coats your insides, and for some reason he feels real proud of this. He’s blind at the moment, his eyes having rolled to the back of his head as his mind is doused in endless euphoria. 

It feels like it lasts forever before he’s coming down to discover he’s kissing you, slow, languid strokes of his tongue that thoroughly ravish your mouth. It’s some time before he slips fully out of you, rolling onto his back beside you. His breathing has calmed, and his thought full of the last hour, his mind replaying bits of the evening like a highlight reel. He’s still struggling to believe what just occurred between you.

It’s quiet in your room, the low light of your lamp casting shadows across your dingy, cracked dorm room ceiling. The sweat he’d accumulated during sex is cooling on his bare flesh, making him feel more naked than he’s ever been, and he’s already missing the way you felt in his arms.

As if you could read his thoughts, you roll over, sliding a leg across his and crossing your arms over his chest. You rest your chin on your arms, and he tucks his own beneath his head so he can see you better. You clear your throat, the startling sound clashing against the previously silent room.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” You’re grinning at him, a spark of something teasing in your eye, and he wonders where this conversation is going to go. 

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. He’s still reeling from having you so close—so intimately. He’s too full of awe, and gratefulness, and joy to utter much more than, “Hm,” in response, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

“Fuck, marry, kill?” You ask, biting your lip as you try to withhold a grin.

He freezes as memories of that day resurfaces. He’d repressed that incident, determined never to remember how humiliated and ashamed he’d felt being called out by you. He can feel you trembling on top of him, you’re enjoying how much discomfort you’re causing him, the heat on his face telling of how much that day still affects him.

He growls at you, wrapping around you and reversing your positions, making you laugh and squeal.

“Well, this is familiar,” you chuckle, looking up at him coyly.

“Why the sudden skip down memory lane?” He asks, hovering over you, glaring at you. Or, at least trying to glare, he’s still too giddy to be truly bothered.

You shrug, “Just curious, I suppose.”

“About?”

“Well, you once said you’d fuck me. Now that you have, what’s next?” 

You bat your eyes at him, trying your best to be cute. He will never tell you how much you’re succeeding. Instead, he dips down and captures you in a quick heated kiss before lifting back up and settling back on an elbow, this time the opposite one. He gazes down at you, his free hand stroking your cheek, and he looks deep into your eyes. 

“I guess now I’ll have to kill you.”

The look of shock on your face is priceless. You gasp, offended, and playfully punch him in the shoulder, and he bursts out into uncontrollable, immeasurably happy laughter.

“Jerk,” you say, giggling too.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to ignore this garbage. I mean, I like the story, I just wish I would have stuck to porns. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. 
> 
> Kudos/comments if you absolutely feel the need.


End file.
